


The Lonesome Road

by bookwormchocaholic



Series: The Lonesome Road Series [1]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, F/M, Great Depression, Marriage of Convenience
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-25
Updated: 2017-03-08
Packaged: 2018-09-19 20:44:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9459749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookwormchocaholic/pseuds/bookwormchocaholic
Summary: Belle is drawn to her employers' neighbor and is surprised when he offers to help her out of a difficult situation.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Not beta-ed; expect mistakes.

 

 

November 1933

Belle’s shoulders sagged as she situated herself in the chair at the kitchen table, her book “The Age of Innocence,” spread open to the first page. The weather had turned off unseasonably warm, a symptom of Indian Summer, therefore she had opened up a few windows, to stir up the stagnant air of the closed up house.

The Mills’ family was out calling on friends and though she had not been invited to join them, she rejoiced at the opportunity to have the house to herself. Her life had had been one upheaval after another since her father passed.

 _Papa…_ She mouthed the word and she closed her book. It had been six weeks since he died of a sudden heart attack and left a hole in her heart. If losing her beloved parent wasn’t bad enough, she had to lose her home too. Her father had been the reverend of Storybrooke and the parsonage that she had lived in her whole life belonged to the church. The board members gave her a week to get things sorted, but she had to move out and make way for the new reverend and his family.

_“Poor dear… my husband and I have talked it over and prayed about it. We would like it if you moved in with us.” Cora had said, drawing Belle off to a quiet corner of the church sanctuary to discuss delicate matters. The woman had hugged her and patted her cheek. “You need a home and I need someone to help me with a few chores around the house. You can have room and board in exchange. What do you think?”_

With no place to go and with no real money of her own, Belle mumbled her acquiescence and that afternoon she packed up her meager belongings. Her clothes, books, and a few sentimental things fit inside one suitcase and a carpet bag. Everything else belonged to the church. The Mills’ were respectable people, good Christians, and her father had always spoken highly of Henry Mills. It would have been foolish not to accept. Cora shuffled her off to the attic of the Mills’ farmhouse, a stuffy and dusty room, but Belle knew it was better than being homeless like so many others in the country.

 _I am lucky._ Belle reminded herself, shaking her head. So many were going hungry and didn’t have a roof over their heads. She had both, although, she couldn’t shake off the feeling that Cora was taking advantage of her.

No, it wasn’t just a feeling…it was a fact.

The second Belle set foot in the house, Cora deigned to lift a finger. The chores, the meals, the care of the two Mills girls fell to Belle, whilst Cora had the luxury of sleeping late, playing Schumann’s “Scenes From Childhood” on the piano, and lounging on the sofa during the day. The woman got a governess, maid, and cook in exchange for very little.

Belle hugged her book to her chest, it was the only thing she could hug, and winced at the tightness that balled in her stomach. Cora had her over a barrel and knew it. A deal was a deal though and nothing could be done about it.

With the country and the economy in dire straits due to the Crash and the Depression, things were bound to get worse before they got better. Cora’s husband was no help; he would not confront Cora. In fact, Belle was pretty certain that the man was afraid of her. More than once she had witnessed Cora smack Henry upside of his head and she was always shouting at him in the privacy of their bedroom. And the girls – Zelena and Regina – such wild little beasts. Regina was too young to know better, but mimicked everything her older, nastier sister did. The Mills family were not the good Christians that they claimed to be.

The blaring of the Mills’ Model A car horn roused Belle from her dark musings. _Baruga, Baruga!_

Belle cast her book aside. _So much for my privacy!_

Cora barged into the house, sweat-damp and her Sunday hat askew, shouting, “Close the windows, you daft girl! There’s a storm coming!”

Belle cringed and rushed to the front window, slamming it down. Across the property, her eyes bulged at the sight of a brown avalanche of dust rolling towards the house. Stifling a terrified gasp, she closed the remaining windows while the children and Henry made inside just in time for the dust to slam into the building.

Streams of brown particles seeped in through keyholes, cracks and slits, but for the most part, they were safe. She and Henry plugged up what holes they could with old handkerchiefs, and figured that she would spend the remainder of the day dusting.

Cora collapsed on the sofa, forearm draped over her face, bemoaning how it was too hot for her to move a muscle. “Why can’t we have air conditioning? The Blanchard’s have it and Gold is rumored to have it and fans! And one of those ice boxes!” Producing a hanky from her pocket, she fanned herself, “You fool, I’m dying here and all you can do is stand there!”

Henry outwardly flinched, hunching his shoulders, he dropped into his chair. “Cora, we can’t afford such luxuries, you know that.”

“You are a waste of perfectly good skin!” Cora hissed.

There was a crash upstairs and shouting from the girls.

Belle rolled her eyes, grabbed up her book, and sequestered herself to the kitchen to work on supper. Hopefully she could get a few more chapters read before the end of the day.

Such was her life and there was no end of it in sight.

#

Belle went upstairs to dispense piles of laundry, stopping in her own room at the end. Tucking her clothes away in the chest of drawers and the chiffarobe, she took a moment’s respite on the bed, kicking her feet up. Breakfast had been loud, the laundry had been a never ending mound of filth infested clothes, and the girls had been especially fractious all morning. Encouraged by Zelena, Regina had thrown a small rock at Belle’s face while she had been stooped over the wringer washer.

Belle had always vowed that she would not spank the girls; that wasn’t her place. But rage filled her and she whipped Regina around and swatted her on the behind. The girls ran off after that, doing God knows what.

She reached for the hand mirror that had belonged to her mother and pressed the spot on her cheek. It was already puffy and purple. Tears smarted her eyes but she blinked them away. If she started crying now, she never would stop. Weeping was for night, when her time was her own. Besides, she still had to dust downstairs, to clean up the remnants of the dust storm that had swept through the area. It had done minimal damage to the property, leaving behind more dirt than anything. According to the radio, the dust storm had begun in the Dakotas and spread across the country. In places on the East Coast, it rained red. No explanations as to why it had happened or if it would happen again.

“Ugh, where’s my book?” Belle groaned. Blindly groping the quilt, she frowned, unable to locate it. She could have sworn she had left it on the bed this morning, reluctant to part from it because Newland Archer had just been reintroduced to Ellen Olenska.

Swinging her feet onto the floor, she looked around and noticed a few scraps of paper on the other side of the room. Hurrying over, Belle found her book, mutilated on the area rug. Turning it over, she examined it and found that the first twenty pages had been ripped out by sticky, smudged fingers.

Belle let out an aggravated cry. The girls! “Regina, Zelena!” She tossed the book on the bed and stomped down the stairs, shouting, “What have you done? You miserable little brats!”

She saw the girls make a wild dash into the living room and duck behind their mother. “You nasty beasts! You ought to be horsewhipped!” she fumed.

“Miss French, we have company!” Cora exclaimed, her hand flying to her cheek.

Belle halted and slowly turned around. In her anger she hadn’t noticed the man in a suit sitting on the sofa, conversing with Henry Mills. The stranger shot to his feet and nodded to her.

“My apologies.” She gulped, feeling ashamed.

No longer the reverend’s daughter, Belle still prided herself on propriety and first impressions – and there she was shouting at children in front of company.

Henry stood and gestured towards the guest. “This is our neighbor, Mr. Gold. Mr. Gold, this is Belle French.”

“Hello. Nice to meet you.” Belle offered her hand.

Mr. Gold’s hand enveloped hers – the cracked skin of his palms were far more abrasive than hers and she felt a little less embarrassed that her hands were not as soft as they should be. “Miss French,” He greeted, offering her a strained smile. “A pleasure.”

Those four words were weighed down by a thick brogue – a Scottish brogue. Well, what she assumed was a Scottish brogue. The only Scotsman she had ever encountered was on the pages of one of her books, never in person.

Belle shyly met his gaze and wished that they were better acquainted that way she could ask him all about his home country and his travels. She, who had never been anywhere, would love to hear about foreign places.

Mr. Gold’s eyes seemed to darken as they swept over her. She shivered; she wasn’t cold yet gooseflesh pebbled her skin.

Belle had not realized that his hand was still clasped around hers when Cora wedged herself between them, breaking the connection.

“Belle, will you see to the tea?” Cora asked in a clipped tone, her mouth twisted in a scowl. The woman would give her an earful later, for yelling at the children and make a horrid display before their guest. “And then start on the meal?”

Mr. Gold frowned and then folded his arms over his chest.

“Yes, Mrs. Mills.” Belle mumbled and dragged her feet to the kitchen.

Filling the kettle full of water, she placed it on the burner and fought the twinge of jealousy as Cora’s lighthearted laughter and chatter drifted in.

#

While the harvest had not been plenty, the Mills had a small bumper crop of tomatoes from the own personal garden, enough for Belle to spend all of October stewing and canning to have for the winter.

Fetching three mason jars from the root cellar, she dumped the pulpy red slime into the dutch oven and added an array of spices, as well as a little vinegar. Stirring it occasionally, she brought the spoon to her lips and tasted it, then made a face. Too vinegary, too strong. But in such desperate times, one did not have the luxury to be persnickety about one’s meal.

Belle slipped upstairs briefly for her book and returned to her place by the kitchen stove. Cracking the novel open, she read it using one hand. The first twenty pages might be gone, but the remainder of the story was there and she could still find out the rest of Newland Archer’s tale.

Loosing herself in the book, she did not hear someone enter, and did not snap to attention until the person laid the tea tray on the counter. Assuming it was Cora, she hid the book behind her back and was surprised to find Mr. Gold instead.

Heat rose to her cheeks and it was not from the steam billowing off of the pan. “Oh, thank you!” Belle put the book on the counter, left the wooden spoon in the soup, and fumbled with the tea cups, laying them in the sink. She would wash them up later. “Sorry, I was distracted.”

Mr. Gold cleared his throat, his Adam ’s apple pulsated. “Um, I want to relay my condolences for the loss of your father. He was a good man.”

“Thank you. That’s very kind of you to say.” Belle replied.

Her father rarely mentioned Mr. Gold, except to say that he owned a successful farm, he was comfortable and that it was “easier for a camel to fit through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to get into heaven.” The Scotsman never attended Sunday services. Never. There were atheists who went to church, to keep up appearance sake and to socialize, but Mr. Gold never did. According to Granny Lucas, the church’s organ player, Mr. Gold was a Catholic. When Belle asked her father about it, he confirmed it, spatting out the word “Catholic” like a wad of tobacco. Somehow being comfortable and a Catholic was a mortal sin in her father’s eyes.

And Mr. Gold had the misfortune of being both.

That he was Scottish never came up.

Belle had never had any real interactions with Mr. Gold herself. The only times she saw him in town was when he came on errands. Once he picked up on her gaping at him from the library display window and nodded in her direction, but that was the extent of it.

The man was a mystery to her. He was of average height, his medium brown hair was graying at his temples, and his eyes were warm as freshly brewed coffee. On the rare occasion that he smiled, he revealed a mouthful of crooked teeth, which were thankfully white. He had to be stifling in his three-piece suit – no man wore a suit except on Sundays, special occasions, and when he was courting. Compared to him she felt dowdy in her chicken feed sack house dress, her skin slick with sweat. Not to mention the bruise on her cheek, dark enough for all to see.

 _Dear Lord, I hope he does not get the wrong impression!_ Belle returned to her post near the stove. She expected for the Scotsman to shuffle back into the living room with the others and was bewildered as to why he remained.

Mr. Gold picked up her book and examined its cover. “‘The Age of Innocence?’ Is it good?” he asked. The man could not have chosen a better subject to talk to her on.

“Very good. Excellent even.” Belle nodded at it and was soon singing the novel’s praises, gushing like a school girl. “‘The Age of Innocence’ won the Pulitzer Prize for Literature and Edith Wharton was the first woman to do so. She wrote it after the Great War, capturing the old world and how life was for the upper classes in 19th century New York.”

She continued to prattle on, referencing Wharton’s other works, and she found in Mr. Gold a willing listener. Over the years, she had come to understand that there were few people in Storybrooke who worshipped the written word, and even less who could discuss it intelligibly. When Mr. Gold admitted that he had never read Wharton, but thought she sounded similar to Austen, Trollope, and Henry James, Belle felt her heart soar.

Rich and Catholic he may be, but the only thing that mattered to Belle was that she had discovered a fellow book lover.

She was midway through telling Mr. Gold about “The House of Mirth,” having grown so animated, that she was gesticulating wildly and laughing for the first time in weeks, when Cora noiselessly entered the kitchen.

Belle shrank back, turning her attention back to the tomato soup.

“I do hope that you aren’t talking poor Mr. Gold’s ear off.” Cora drawled, arching one of her thinly plucked brows.

It was on the tip of Belle’s tongue to apologized, not that she particularly wanted to. But she couldn’t afford to get on Cora’s bad side. Not when she had nowhere else to go.

“On the contrary, Mrs. Mills.” When Mr. Gold addressed Cora, Belle noted that there was a coldness in his tone that wasn’t present before. His upper lip curled back into a snarl. “We were having a riveting discussion on English and American literature. One that I would like to get back to.”

Cora’s full lips formed an “O”. She turned and with a sway of her hips, she marched back into the living room. No one ever argued with Cora, let alone put her in her place. No one dared. That Mr. Gold had no fear of the woman, spoke volumes.

Mr. Gold faced Belle and sent her an apologetic look. “Miss French, what are your thoughts on ‘The Great Gatsby?’”

Belle dropped the spoon back in the pot and clapped her hands gleefully. “I loved it! I’ve read it three times.”

Mr. Gold spent the next hour with her discussing literature, until he left before supper. Henry had invited him to stay for the meal, but he had somewhere else to be.

Belle was sad to see him go. She repeatedly played their conversation over in her head for the remainder of the evening. And for that, she felt a little less lonesome.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mr. Gold continues to visit and proposes a solution to Belle's problems.

 

Belle adjusted the collar of her coat, cinching it closer to her frame. The wind was wild and from the north, carrying a chill in time for the holidays. One day a dust storm, the next day sleet. Still, she wanted to stay out as long as she could. The Mills girls were at school, working on a Thanksgiving program; Henry Mills was hiding out in the barn, preferring to be with smelly livestock than in the house. Not that Belle could blame him. And Cora… Cora was wailing about how unfair it was that she and the family could not go to Europe this year for Christmas. Apparently they had gone before the Crash.

Not even her distant attic bedroom could protect Belle’s ears from her employer’s caterwauling.

Belle turned her shoulder so that her back would take the brunt of the gusts and felt a smile bloom on her face when she noticed Mr. Gold trudging towards her. Frolicking at his heel was a dog; its longish hair was a mix of tan, black and white, and his nose looked smudged with two different colors: dark brown and pink.

Mr. Gold signaled to the dog, giving it permission to go to her.

“Hello!” Belle offered the Scotsman a small wave and squatted in the damp grass. Dragging her fingers through the dog’s coat, she exclaimed. “Oh, he’s gorgeous. What’s his name?” Lifting her gaze back to him, she waited for Mr. Gold to answer and wondered what had made him tongue-tied.

“Wilby.” Mr. Gold mustered out, sounding husky. He averted his eyes and coughed. “I, uh, I was on my way to see Mr. Mills. May I walk with you?”

“Of course.” Belle chirped, giving Wilby one last pat on the head.

Mr. Gold held out his hand and assisted her to her feet and stuck out his elbow for her to hang onto. She gladly accepted his arm and they took their time returning to the house. Wilby pranced around their feet, circling them, barking. They had not walked ten paces before Mr. Gold halted.

He withdrew a rectangular object from his coat pocket, wrapped in brown paper. “I hope…” He stammered and then a string of words tumbled from his lips. “Well, I hope that this is not too forward, but I saw this when I was in Boston last weekend and I thought of you.”

Belle extracted her arm from his, accepted the gift he thrust at her, and unwrapped it. A book! “‘Let the Hurricane Roar,’ by Rose Wilder Lane.” She recited aloud.

“It’s a story of pioneers and hard times. Reminded me of our times.” Mr. Gold said, bashfully lowering his head. Tapping the cover with the tip of his index finger, he added, “The author is a professional writer and journalist who’s traveled the world. I thought you might like it.”

Belle swallowed hard, and wondered if he heard her make that “glug” noise. It had been a long while since she had a brand new book. Most were old, having been purchased in better times. Others were cast offs, from people in town who heard that the minister’s daughter was a bookworm and wanted to give her something nice.

“I do. Thank you, this is so kind of you.” Belle blinked away her tears and drew the book to her chest. Unsure of what he meant by giving her a gift, she chose to believe that Mr. Gold felt sorry for her predicament and that he simply wanted to do something nice for her. What else could it have been? “Maybe after I finish it, you can read it too and then we can discuss it.” She suggested.

“Sounds like a plan.” Mr. Gold eagerly nodded and offered his arm once more.

Belle accepted it and nestled closer to him, her nostrils soon filled with the slight scent of pipe tobacco and peppermint.

#

Henry Mills invited Mr. Gold for supper again and this time the Scotsman accepted. Belle hid her new book under the mattress, to spare it from grubby fingers, and tended to the meal preparation. Since she had moved in, Cora had ceased her involvement in the kitchen. Belle strained her ears to listen in on the cheerful conversation and could have sworn she heard Mr. Gold drop a few snide comments that it was _“unfair that all the work had been left to Miss French.”_ She was proven right when he strode into the kitchen and mashed the potatoes for her.

Her mother had raised her to believe that men were useless and underfoot when cooking, however Mr. Gold seemed to know his way around a kitchen. The man was a bachelor, of course, so perhaps he had no other choice but to see to his own victuals.

Dinner consisted of meatloaf, potatoes, string beans and dull conversation centered around Henry’s livestock and the recent death of an old laying hen.

The younger girl, Regina, a dark hair and dark eyed child, grabbed onto one of the words and chanted it. “Dead! Dead! Dead!” she cackled.

Belle cut her meatloaf with the edge of her fork and rolled her eyes.

Mr. Gold covered his ear, to protect it from the shrieks of the girl.

“Regina, of all the things to say.” Henry chuckled, shaking his head. Reaching over, he patted Regina on the head, but that did nothing to stop her.

Zelena giggled, her mouth expanding into a wide grin. Her large teeth stuck out comically. “I was telling her what dead meant.” She threw up her hands. “She asked me!”

Zelena, as the oldest, knew better, but liked to egg Regina on. It stemmed from the green-eyed monster of jealousy. Regina was the favorite of her parents, their special pet. She was the youngest, the baby, and the one who would grow up to be a beauty. Zelena, on the other hand, was pushed aside and disregarded and acted out to get attention. A red hair, freckled little girl, Belle often wondered which side of the family she took after, since she did not resemble either Cora or Henry. In fact, she could find no traces of either in Zelena.

“From now on, if Regina has any questions, she can come to us for the answers.” Henry shook his finger at Zelena.

The girl glowered, no doubt plotting her next scheme to retaliate against them.

“Dead is dead!” Regina continued to chant, grabbing her spoon; she pounded it on the table. “Grandma is dead, the chicken is dead, Pastor French is dead! Dead, dead, dead!”

Belle dropped her silverware, cringing at the clatter it made, and at the mention of her father. Regina might not have understood the gravity of what she was saying, she was still young, but she was old enough to understand when she did wrong.

“Oh, Regina, please!” Cora sipped from her glass of water and primly set it back down. “Not at the dinner table. We have company.” The woman simpered.

Regina gave a shrill laugh. The girl would receive no reprimand and Belle knew that she would receive no apology. The Mills family only viewed her as a servant, invisible unless needed to perform a service.

Belle balled her cloth napkin and tossed it on the table. Scooting back her chair, she stood and hadn’t intended to look in Mr. Gold’s direction, but hazard a glance his way.

His concerned gaze was upon her, full of sympathy. Or pity.

Belle fled the room and hastened outside, only then releasing that her breathing had become labored when she choked down gulps of oxygen and her lungs felt the cold air stabbing her lungs. It had rained and a stagnant stench lingered.

She sank to the top stair on the porch and wrapped her arms around her shivering frame, scolding herself for running outside without a coat on.

The front door squeaked and the clicking of nails informed her that Wilby had followed her. He planted himself beside her and laid his head in her lap. She petted his head and found herself wishing that she could have a dog like him. Sweet, good natured, wise.

Tears blurred her eyes. Wilby’s cuddles was the closest she had gotten to a hug since her father died.

Belle jerked a bit when a heavy coat was laid upon her shoulders, but she relaxed when Mr. Gold sat down on the other side of his dog. He passed her his handkerchief. “Why do you live here? Do you not have other family?” he asked directly.

“My parents are gone and I was an only child.” She dabbed the cloth to her tear ducts and sniffed. “My mother died when I was seventeen. I worked at the library and kept house for my father. The library closed down last year and as you know my father died six weeks ago.” She need not mention that there was no work to be found in Storybrooke, except for the Rabbit Hole, but a tavern was not a respectable place for a former minister’s daughter. There were hard times all around. Living with the Mills family was it. “The Mills family is showing me Christian charity by having me live here.”

“Yes, I can see that.” The Scotsman scoffed. “You deserve better than this. You need a home.”

The mention of a home was her undoing. She had only been six weeks without a home, but how she longed for one! But it was nothing so simple. Yes, folks felt sorry for her and offered to help at the funeral, but not a week afterwards, they had returned to their normal lives. And she was on her own, without any means of support. Other than keeping house and managing the library, she was good for nothing else. Marriage was out of the question…she was thirty and in the eyes of Storybrooke, a confirmed old maid.

Belle nudged Wilby away and stood. “What do you propose then, Mr. Gold? There is no work to be found in Storybrooke and I have no money. What else is there for me to do?” Shrugging his coat off, she passed it and the handkerchief back to him. “Thank you for your concern, but I will be fine.”

She stormed inside and let the door close with a frustrated thud.

#

Belle gritted her teeth as she swung the ax and the blade lodged into a chunk of wood. Chopping wood was one of Henry’s chores, but he was laid up with a sprained ankle after taking a tumble down the stairs. According to Cora, he had lost his footing and fell, but from the shame on Henry’s face, Belle knew there was more to the story than that.  
Cora liked to hurt Henry.

A pang of guilt burrowed into her gut. She felt sorry for the man, but what could she do? If she spoke up, she’d become Cora’s next victim or find herself on the street. Besides, folks likely wouldn’t believe her…that Cora Mills beat on her husband. But from years of hearing her father speak on mankind’s depravity, she knew people were capable of anything. And Cora was capable of so much more.

Belle tried to shake the chunk of wood free, but the tip of the blade was wedged in deep. Raising her foot, she kicked at it to loosen it, but it was no use.

“Stop, don’t do that!” A familiar shout rang out. “You’ll hurt yourself!”

Mr. Gold strode over and yanked the ax handle out of her grasp. “Let me.” One great swing and the wood split into two. When she held out her open hand to take it back, he shook his head and continued until there were enough logs for several days.

Belle hugged herself, feeling useless. He was not much bigger than she and yet he barely broke a sweat. Of course he was used to manual labor, he ran his own farm.

When he was through, he drove the ax into the tree stump and patted his brow dry with his handkerchief from his trouser pocket.

There was a pregnant pause between them. It had been a week since she had seen Mr. Gold...a week of two bratty girls, Cora’s temper tantrums, and the never-ending mound of chores. Only the book he had given her had helped her maintain her sanity, and it was a poor substitute for his company. They had only met a handful of times, but she had grown lonesome without him.

Mr. Gold studied her. “Miss French, you asked me the other evening what I would propose in regards to your situation.” There was a quaver in his tone, making his lilt more pronounced. “Well, I propose marriage. To me.”

“Marriage?” Belle repeated, uncertain if she heard him correctly. But a quick nod from the Scotsman and she realized that she hadn’t misunderstood. “Mr. Gold, we - we barely know one another.”

“I know enough.” He replied and dropped his gaze to his work boots, and then to smooth over an awkward proposal, he added, “I have a successful, working farm; a decent home; and I can provide for a wife.”

“But why me?” Belle persisted.

“I know how to recognize a desperate soul.” He had not meant to, but he sounded too menacing for her to handle. He folded his hands, once and then twice, perhaps a nervous tic of his. That lessened the harshness of his words. “Frankly, Miss French, I am in my mid-forties and I want to have a family of my own. A wife and children. Time is running out for me to make that dream a reality. Can you understand that?”

Belle felt the world around her sway. She desperately needed to grab hold of something, to anchor her, and grappled for the fence post. Leaning into it, it was soon the only thing to keep her from toppling over. His plight was understandable; he was lonely.

It was all so much to take in at once.

There was a time in her life, a long time ago, that she too had wanted to marry and have a family. But she had since given up that dream, settling for the life of a spinster. Mr. Gold had a better chance at wedding than she did. Men could remain bachelors for as long as the pleased and no one thought less of them. That he wanted her was puzzling. Especially when the town of Storybrooke was chock full of pretty, young women.

But he proposed to her, the former reverend’s mousy, bookish daughter.

“I think so. So you would want a real marriage?” Belle concluded, her fingernails clawing into the wood.

Mr. Gold moved closer to her. “Oh, yes.” He replied without blinking an eye.

A shiver shot through her and Belle let out a whimper. The idea of sharing a bed with a man she barely knew made her uneasy. In the bounds of matrimony there was nothing wrong about a man and wife lying together. But without love, she could not fathom it. What if he turned out to be violent, or he drank too much, or he ran around with other women? Then what?

“What is it?” Mr. Gold asked.

“I wanted to find love.” Belle admitted in a small voice.

Mr. Gold’s lips pressed together into a thin line. “Love is all well and good, but at the end of the day, you need something more substantial. I don’t know what you might have heard about me. I’m not perfect, Miss French; I have many faults and have made more than my share of mistakes.” His admission was surprising, that he could be so cavalier about his vices, and she found herself more endeared to him. “But I will work every day to be worthy of you and to make you happy.”

He slid his hand into his coat pocket and withdrew a burgundy velvet box. Cracking the lid open, a tiny diamond shone on a modest band. “Miss French, will you marry me?” he queried.

Belle worried her lip and knew she was at an impasse. She could not continue to live with the Mills’ family, but to go live with a man she scarcely knew, to share his life and his bed, to bear his children…it would be an adventure unlike any other. And she could only pray that Mr. Gold would be good to her, just as she would try to be good to him.

“Yes.” Her response came out in a throaty rasp.

A bashful smile broke out on Mr. Gold’s handsome face. He gently slipped the ring onto her ring finger.

“It’s lovely. Thank you.” Was all that Belle could think to say.

His gaze lowered to her mouth. Knowing what he wanted, and curious as to what he tasted like, Belle inclined her head. His lips brushed against hers in a chaste kiss and left behind a hint of peppermint flavoring.

Drawing back, she licked her lips and uttered, “Mr. Gold…”

“Call me Rowan, if you wish.” He offered.

She nodded in agreement.

Belle felt the blood rush to her face and briefly considered that if his kisses were any indication of what he was like in bed, she might not hate it. It occurred to her that it had been thirteen years since she had been kissed. For a few months she had been engaged and there had been some kisses exchanged, but her former fiancé could not compare to her current fiancé.

_Perhaps we will be all right._

Only then did it occur to her that she was the reason Mr. Gold had paid so many calls on the Mills’ family in the last few weeks. In a suit, no less. He had been courting her all along.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> http://bookwormchocaholic.tumblr.com/post/156665954724/the-lonesome-road-chapter-2


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cora makes trouble; Belle and Rowan marry and smut ensues.

 

 

After they finished their conversation, Belle led her new fiancé inside.

Mr. Gold – Rowan as he requested her to call him – met privately with Henry in the kitchen while Belle loitered about in the living room. Unable to sit still, she paced from the sofa to the fire place and back against several times. She didn’t require Henry Mills’ permission to wed, but as she was living in his house and under his protection, he needed to be informed of her and Rowan’s sudden engagement.

Rowan emerged from the kitchen a few minutes later, beaming, and gave her a brief kiss before taking his leave. He promised to return the following afternoon to discuss arrangements.

That evening, Henry turned in early, as did the girls, and for once Belle had the living room to herself. She eased onto the sofa, stretched her legs out, and tried to read, but couldn’t concentrate. The words on the pages ran together. _I’m getting married!_ When she reached her twenty-seventh year she had quite given up hope of every marrying, never mind having children, and figured that she would spend most of her life taking care of her father in his dotage. Like Abraham who had to wait until he was one hundred to have a child, she too thought of herself as good as dead. _I could have a baby!_

Belle frowned at the shrieks that Cora suddenly made from her bedroom. The woman had spent most of the day in bed, listening to the radio, unaware that Rowan had visited and made her an offer of marriage.

The petite woman stomped down the stairs, wearing a frilly bed jacket, and stood before her, hands on her hips. “My husband informed me that Mr. Gold made you an offer of marriage and that you accepted.”

“I did.” Belle laid her book on her lap.

“My, my, you do set your sights high.” Cora’s mouth twisted into a scowl, which only accentuated the lines around her mouth. “I would never have expected this from a mousy bookworm like you. Seducing such a man. Gold has more money than God.”

Belle refused to dignify that with a response. She hadn’t thought about it, that she was marrying a man with money. Rowan was more than “comfortable.” His suits were a cut above the suits that other men wore; her gave her a book and could afford to give her a diamond ring. Perhaps she should thought about his wealth, but truly she was far more fascinated that he could hold up his end of a conversation and that he had been born in a foreign country. Unlike most women, she had been born without feminine wiles and didn’t have it in her to seduce a man.

God only knew what Rowan saw in her. But he had sought her out. He pursued her.

Cora is only upset that she will be losing me as her maid. Belle reasoned. Now the woman would have to do her own chores.

“He will treat you well; after all, I know that better than anyone.” Cora continued with an injured sniff, her beady eyes narrowed. “He treated me like a queen.”

“What?” Belle exclaimed, her ears burning.

“No doubt it slipped his mind to tell you that we were once lovers.” Gone was Cora’s frown; it had waned and been replaced with a smug smirk. “Gold tossed me aside when he was through with me and I had no choice to marry Mr. Mills.”

“That’s not true. You’re lying.” Belle protested.

 _She is only making up falsehoods because she hates that I’m leaving._ Belle reminded herself. After all, Rowan had always been curt with Cora, rude even. He didn’t like the woman. _No, it couldn’t be…_

“I’m not.” Cora took a seat in her husband’s chair, primly folding her hands in her lap.

Yet the longer she watched Cora, to gauge her expression, Belle could feel her own resolve slipping and she found herself believing it to be true. That Rowan and Cora had once been lovers.

Belle stiffened and pressure mounted behind her eyes, as she was unwilling to shed a tear. Not in front of Cora anyway. She was not naïve; during her first engagement, her mother took her aside and explained to her about the ways of men. That they often didn’t wait until marriage; that they liked to sow their wild oats and some strayed after marriage too; and that the first time a wife lay with her husband, it would be painful but that it was to be expected.

Yes, all this she knew, and since her and Rowan’s relationship was not a love match, she knew she shouldn’t be too upset that he had loved someone else. But it irked Belle that Cora – a woman she had grown to despise – had had Rowan before she did and knew things that she did not.

“Not a day goes by that I don’t think of him. You’ll find yourself quite pleased.” Cora gave a playful chuckle and touched her fingertips to her cheek. “Just be careful, child. He will eventually tire of you too.”

Belle ignored Cora’s sparkling eyes and got up, tucked her book under her arm and climbed the stairs, all the way up to her attic room. Only then did she curl up into a ball and succumb to her tears.

The last thing she wanted to do was marry a man who preferred another woman.

#

The front wheel of Rowan’s 1928 Ford Model A hit a bump on the country road, jostling Belle out of her brief stupor. Rowan mumbled an apology. She cast a demur glance at the man who was now her husband and dropped her gaze to her carpet bag in her lap.

Despite what sordid tales Cora told about Rowan, and despite the mounting evidence that they indeed had been lovers, Belle chose to believe that her husband was turning over a new leaf with her. He had gone to the church service with her, listened to the minister’s sermon, sang “For the Beauty of the Earth” along with the rest of the congregation, and was willing to marry in a Protestant Church – all for her sake. That had to mean something.

What was in the past, should stay in the past. Not that she liked that he had loved Cora or fornicated with her, but Belle decided that she could not judge him for it. No more than he could judge her for having a fiancé and broken engagement at seventeen.

The ceremony had been a quiet one, with only the reverend’s family as their witnesses. The Mills had not attended that Sunday service, feigning illness. In reality, Belle’s departure left the whole house in uproar. Cora was throwing one fit after another, the girls were feuding, and Henry begged her not to leave him alone. But they were not her responsibility and she needed to lead her own life, to pursue her own happiness.

Rowan guided the car onto his property and shut off the engine. “I hope you’re not expecting much.” His long fingers curled around the steering wheel. “It’s a nice house, but…it lacks a woman’s touch.”

Belle nodded and gave his wrist a comforting squeeze. “It’ll be fine.” She assured him.

Peering up, she rather liked the look of the two-story farm house. White with green gables, green trim, a white picket fence encircled it. A rocking chair was the only personable thing outside. Nothing pretty, no wind chimes, the flower beds looked unused. In the spring she could plant some flowers. Give the place a woman’s touch.

No sooner had she stepped out of the truck, did Wilby bolt down the porch steps. He was jumping and whining, wagging his tale so hard that it knocked him off balance.

Belle leaned over and scratched behind Wilby’s pointed ears. She’d play with him more later on, but as she was in her wedding dress, she didn’t wish to see it muddied. Times were hard, too hard to have a large wedding, but Rowan insisted on buying her a wedding dress. She settled on a lacy white blouse and white skirt, which included a white cloche hat that perched atop of her head. It would be too fine for every day wear, but she could wear it again on Sundays and special occasions.

Rowan took the carpet bag from her and lifted her suitcase out of the bed of the truck. He carried them into the house, while she followed behind a few paces. Belle shut the door once Wilby was inside and observed her new surroundings, a little overwrought by all of the changes that had occurred within the last few hours. She had gone from being a spinster and maid to a wife to a man she barely knew.

“This is your home now, so make yourself comfortable.” Rowan declared, perhaps sensing her unease. “Change whatever you want, however you want. I’m not particular about anything.” He cleared his throat and nodded towards the door way that led into the kitchen. “Let me show you around.”

Belle hurried after him, admiring the rooms. They were bare and plain, most certainly lacking a woman’s touch, but they were clean, smelled fresh, and the rooms were large. They had potential. She could make a charming home out of a nice house.

The tour ended at the bottom of the stairs. They stored their coats away in the coat closet.

“I, uh, I have a gift for you. Upstairs.” Rowan lifted his chin upwards and mounted the steps.

Belle followed in suite and soon found herself in what was the main bedroom. It was spacious and other than a bed, chest of drawers, and dog pallet in the corner, there were no personal adornments.

Rowan set her luggage near the foot of the bed and his face reddened. She soon understood and she could not tear her eyes from it.

The bed. Their bed.

 _There be three things which are too wonderful for me, yea, four which I know not: The way of an eagle in the air; the way of a serpent upon a rock; the way of a ship in the midst of the sea; and the way of a man with a maid._ Or so the Good Book went.

Her palms moistened and she scrambled for the carpet bag. “I have something for you too. Um, let me get it out.”

Last night it occurred to her that Rowan was giving her so much and she had nothing for him. Her worldly goods were few, but the only thing she had of value was her father’s pocket watch. Moe French would likely be rolling in his grave if he knew that his prized pocket watch was going to his Catholic son-in-law, but Rowan would never have to know that.

Belle sat on the bed, unsnapped the carpet bag, and extracted the gold pocket watch. “This was my father’s and his father’s before him. It’s a man’s pocket watch, so it makes sense for a man to use it.” Putting the bag back down on the floor, she held out the watch to her new husband. “And I want you to have it.”

“It’s remarkable.” Rowan accepted it from her and stroked its outer casing with his thumb. “Thank you, sweetheart. I’ll cherish it always.” He put it up on his chest of drawers, for safe keeping, then joined her on the edge of the bed. “Belle, if you’d rather wait a bit, until we get to know one another better…”

“No, I want to. I do want to.” Belle insisted, yet she knew her husband was unconvinced. She was nervous as any maid would be, but she wasn’t as innocent as the rest of the world thought her to be. “It was sinful, but I’ve always wondered what it would be like. I’ve read some books that I probably shouldn’t have.” She chuckled at her youthful curiosity. When she had been engaged all those years ago, after her mother explained somethings to her, she talked to a friend of hers who was far worldlier than she. Then there were the books she had read. “And I was engaged a long time ago. But then my mother died and I couldn’t leave my father so soon after her death. We broke the engagement.”

“I’m sorry. Love has never worked out for me either.” Rowan covered her hand with his larger one and gave it a soft squeeze. “I promise you this, I’m not going anywhere.”

“Neither am I.” Belle promised.

Rowan was a handsome man. She hadn’t really allowed herself to look at him, to memorize his features, but now that they were in the privacy of their bedroom, she was free to do so. He was her husband now. He was slim, with a wiry build. His lank hair was a little longer than what was considered fashionable and wrinkles had begun to splinter from the corners of his eyes and around his mouth. But she thought that it gave him character. He could wear a suit better than any other man.

Rowan lifted his hand and removed her cloche hat, and after laying it aside, he unpinned her long, chestnut curls. His deft fingers toyed with her locks, and then he cradled her jaw. “You’re beautiful. I should have said so earlier.” He said before lowering his mouth to hers.

Belle whimpered as he nuzzled her lips apart and her eyes bulged when he slipped his tongue between them. Grasping his shoulders, she clung to him as he gently probed within, stroking the roof of her mouth. She felt on of his hands slip down to the front of her blouse and unbutton it. His fingertips grazed her exposed chest and a breath hitched in her throat when he tore his lips from hers kissed his way to her neck, focusing on her pulse point. She nearly shrieked when he nibbled and licked there.

Rowan eased off her blouse and laid it aside, then mouthed his way down to the tops of her breasts. He undid her side snap on the skirt and gasped as he peeled that and her stockings off, leaving her in only her brassier and panties. Only then did she realize that between giving him the pocket watch and now did her shoes fall off of her feet.

Belle gripped the quilt on the bed and wanted to cover herself, but this was part of sharing her husband’s bed.

“Belle, we can stop.” Rowan averted his gaze. His burr had thickened by rampant desire, and his words were almost indistinguishable. “We can wait.”

She shook her head and it dawned on her why she felt too exposed. He was still fully clothed. “Would you undress?” She croaked out.

Rowan’s gaze swung back to her, his pupils blown wide. “You want me to undress?”

“Yes.” Belle bit her lip. “It might be easier for me.” Lifting her fingers to his tie, she unlaced it and flipped it on the floor, and then shoved his suit jacket off. “I mean, I am sitting her in only my underwear and you’re still fully clothed. May I undress you?”

“I am yours, to do with as you please.” He replied.

Belle’s hands trembled as she undid the buttons of his dress shirt and opened it, revealing a muscular chest that tapered down into a soft tummy. Peeling the shirt off of him revealed well-toned arms. Her fingers inched closer to one of his nipples and but she stopped herself midway.

Rowan caught her hand placed it on his bare, smooth chest. “It’s all right. Nothing we do here is wrong or sinful. We are husband and wife, we don’t have to be ashamed.”

Belle nodded. He was right. They were married now and could enjoy one another. But years of living as though carnal desires were sinful were difficult to let go in one afternoon.  
She palmed his chest, feeling a little smug to elicit groans out of her husband…groans of pleasure. Rocking to her knees, she leaned forward and kissed the side of his neck, attempting to do to him what he did to her earlier.

His arms wrapped around her waist and he scooted her up to the head of the bed. “There. More room.” He explained simply. “My turn again.”

Heat flooded her stomach as he cupped her breasts, rolling her hardening nipples. He slid his hand behind her back and undid the snap on her brassier. It fluttered onto her lap and then she shoved it off.

Rowan dropped kisses along her shoulders and urging her to lie down, he hovered over her. He nipped and sucked his way to her breasts and Belle cried out when he captured one of her nipples in his mouth and while he massaged her other breast. Rowan switched sides, showing the same attention to her other breast.

Belle raked one of her hands through his hair, to hold him in place. In case he got it in his head to stop. Raised to believe that a woman’s first time with her husband was painful, it never occurred to her that love making could feel good. Unladylike moans escaped from her, so she raised her free hand to cover her mouth.

A wet pop resounded as Rowan lifted his head. He pried her hand away and kissed her palm. “No, I want to hear the little noises you make. They’re beautiful.”

Belle dragged his head back down and passionately kissed him, her chest rubbing against his. She soon felt a hardened bulge against her stomach and emboldened by the fact that he had encouraged her to do as she pleased to him, she traced her fingers down the planes of his chest and cupped him.

Rowan gave a hoarse shout, “Belle, please, stop!”

“I’m sorry!” Belle tore her hand away.

“You didn’t do wrong.” He rasped and inhaled. “It felt wonderful, but I don’t want to hurt you.”

Belle shook her head and gave him a knowing look. “You won’t, I trust you. I think I’m ready.” He had gone above and beyond to please her, she had nothing to fear from him.

“Let me try something else first.” Rowan hedged and undid the tie of her panties and slid the damp material off.

Belle looked down, her brow furrowed. “I’m wet!”

“That is normal, sweetheart.” Rowan snorted, swallowed back a laugh. “It helps everything fit together.”

She blushed, amazed that her body knew how to naturally prepare itself.

He teased along her nest of curls and she whined when he slid a finger in, and then another. Pumping his fingers, he rubbed an area within that drove her wild. She was soon seeing stars and writhing, shouting her voice raw. A hot wave anointed her from head to toe and she was left trembling from ecstasy.

Rowan withdrew his fingers, smirking.

Belle pulled him against her and crushed her mouth to his. Tearing at his belt, she undid the buckle and unbuttoned his fly. “Please!” She growled into the kiss. “Rowan!”

Rowan nodded, kicked off his shoes, then shucked off his pants and underwear. His length was red and hot and raised. He ventured a glance at her, as if to ask her permission to continue.

Belle spread her legs a little wider and braced herself for what might come. Everything since they had begun had been extraordinary. If pain was next, she could handle it.

Rowan placed a kiss on her moist brow and pressed the tip of his length at her opening. “Belle, it might feel odd at first and if I hurt you, you have to let me know. Remember to breathe, all right?”

She answered him by guiding his head back down and kissing him. He eased himself into her, bit by bit, until he was fully sheathed. Her insides stretched and there was some pain, enough to make her eyes glisten, but it passed and was replaced with the urge to move.

“All right?” Rowan stroked the side of her hip. “Sweetheart?”

“I’m fine.” Belle assured him and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. “How…what next?”

“We rock our hips, together. Ready?”

Belle didn’t know why she thought of dancing, but like that, he did the leading and she copied each of his thrusts. With each movement, her nails dug into his shoulder blades, hard enough they would leave marks. Her insides clenched around him and she could feel the pressure building.

Rowan rubbed a spot where they were joined and once more Belle felt the warmth surge through her and the stars returned.

“Rowan!” She screamed his name. His lips covered hers, and he swallowed her cries.

Belle sank listlessly back into the mattress, sapped of all of her energy.

Rowan slumped forward with a garbled shout and peppered kisses across her face. He rolled them, situating himself on the bottom and drawing her to his chest.

Unable to keep her eyes open a second longer, Belle cuddled to him and fell asleep listening to his racing heartbeat.

#

Belle stirred, her lashes fluttering. Gripping the edge of her pillow, she wondered how she ended up back there, but the finger tickling her nose had her attention first.

“Mmm?” She cracked one of her eyes open and giggled.

In their short courtship, she had not known how much of a tease the reserved and formal Mr. Gold could be. He was full of surprises.

Rowan rested his palm on her shoulder. “Are you all right? Did I- did I hurt you?”

Belle stroked his cheek and smiled. “I’m fine.”

Kissing the corner of his mouth, she was about to brush her lips against his when he stopped her.

“Wait…I never did give you your present.” He swallowed, a red flush breaking out on his cheeks. “I got carried away.”

Rowan rolled out of bed and held out his hand to help her out.

Belle’s fingers wrapped around his as she slid out and padded after him. Heading to the room across the hall, not wearing a stitch of clothing, she fought the urge to cover herself. They were married and alone, therefore there could be nothing wrong with it. Adam and Eve did as much in the Garden of Eden.

He pushed the door back and drew her to his side.

It was a room with floor to ceiling bookshelves and a desk. The fresh scent of pine filled her nostrils.

“It’s to be a library.” Rowan said, filling the silence. “Yours to do with as you please.”

She didn’t own enough books to fill one shelf, let a dozen shelves, but she soon understood. He was going to give her more books.

“Thank you, Rowan. I love it.” Belle through her arms around his neck and molded her lips to his.

The rug beneath her bare feet was soft enough to lie on and she supposed that if they could traipse about the house naked, then they could make love in other places too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> http://bookwormchocaholic.tumblr.com/post/156976186299/the-lonesome-road-chapter-3


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Belle and Rowan receive some wonderful news; Belle learns something about her husband.

 

February 1934

Belle chased the melting glob of lard around in the skillet using a two pronged fork and then laid the freshly cut strips of bacon on the bubbling grease. The pan hissed as it fried, spitting bits of hot liquid on the backs of her hands and wrists, but she was too distracted to pay much mind.

Wilby was at her feet, whining for food. He knew that he would get his left over scraps later, but that never stopped him from pressing his luck.

Much had changed in the three months since she had married. Each day she grew a little fonder of Rowan. He was not wax poetic, but he showed his feelings through actions. From the way he held her, how tender he was in bed, how he kissed her at random moments, or brought home books and chocolate for her at the end of the day, or how he valued her opinions and listened to her counsel. Rowan might not love her any more than she loved him, but their marriage was far better than the Mills’ couple.

Best of all, she was no longer alone in the world. Rowan was her family now.

The back door swung open and shut. Her husband wiped his feet on the mat and he trudged into the kitchen. She stilled, knowing that he was going to hug her from behind, as he did customarily every morning. It was something she looked forward to.

Rowan’s hands slid around her waist and inched downwards, making the ache between her thighs intensify. “Smells good.” He pressed his lips to the juncture of her neck and shoulder.

Belle squeaked when he scraped his teeth there. “Should be ready in a bit.”

They had made loved earlier that morning before rising and she liked to believe that she was improving. He couldn’t seem to get enough of her. Perhaps he no longer thought of Cora and now preferred her.

“I meant you.” He laved the spot with the tip of his tongue. “Delicious.”

Belle took a deep breath and made a pathetic attempt to concentrate on the meal. Not that she could. Her husband knew how to make her knees quiver.

Suddenly, a wave of nausea hit her and she dropped the fork. Slapping her hand over her mouth, Belle untangled herself from Rowan, went around the dog, and bolted out the back door.

She made it to an old oak tree and vomited on its roots. In between heaves, Rowan had joined her and drew her hair to the side, and rubbed her lower back. When the vomiting ceased and her stomach settled down, Belle straightened.

“Belle!” Rowan probed around in his trouser pocket and handed her his handkerchief. “Are you all right?” He cradled her cheek and thumbed it.

“Sorry.” Belle blotted the sour moisture from her lips. “The smell made me sick.” Her throat still burned from the acidic juices.

“You look pale. Why not go back upstairs and rest?” He suggested.

Belle shook her head. The last thing she wanted to do was laze about in bed the way Cora did. If he thought that she was anything like Cora, he might tire of her and cast her aside.

Rowan slid his arms across her shoulders and guided her back inside. “At least go stretch out on the sofa. I’ll finish breakfast.” He pressed a kiss to her brow and gestured her towards the living room. “Go on.”

Belle wobbled to the sofa and slumped down, praying that this bout of sickness would pass quickly.

#

The nausea tapered off later on in the day, only to return the next morning, and the morning after that. What followed was a flurry of nerves, mood swings, and lethargy. Belle would doze in the early evening in the midst of cuddling with Rowan and at night when she did sleep in their bed, she would wake herself snoring. She would mumble apologies to her husband, who was sitting up and watching her, with a thoughtful expression on his sleepy face.

After three weeks of these peculiar symptoms, they went to see Dr. Whale. The examination had been quick and routine, but her unknown condition set her on edge. For all she knew, she was dying. She had finally found a measure of happiness and she was going to die!

Belle fidgeted in her seat which was directly across from the doctor’s desk. She calmed when Rowan grasped her shoulder and rubbed soothing circles into it.

“It’ll be all right.” Rowan assured her, his tone soft as velvet. “Whatever it is, we’re going to be fine.”

Belle nodded and inhaled a soothing breath, offering a watery smile.

Dr. Whale swept through the office and plunked down in his chair, grinning from ear to ear. “Well, I have a diagnosis.”

“Will I be all right?” Belle frowned, irritated that the doctor could be so cavalier.

Dr. Whale folded his arms on top of his desk. “You will be. In seven and half months. Mrs. Gold, you are expecting a baby. Congratulations.”

Belle gasped, unable wrap her mind around it. _A baby!_ Things had become irregular, her monthly curse had been late…very late. She hadn’t given it much thought, thinking it due to all of the changes.

But it was a baby.

Turning to her husband, she was beaming, and found him nodding and his eyes glistening.

Belle pushed herself up from her chair, threw her arms around his neck, and kissed Rowan squarely on the lips.

Her husband chuckled, bemused by her excitement. Happy and bemused…but not as surprised as he should have been.

#

Belle sucked in a breath as Rowan peeled back the skirt of her nightgown past her navel. He leaned over and he kissed her still-flat tummy.

Following the doctor appointment, they returned home and saw to their various chores, had dinner and turned in early. Preferring to celebrate their news alone. In bed.

Her stomach muscles quivered beneath his hot lips.

Belle raked her fingers through his hair and sighed. “I can’t believe we’re having a baby. We’re going to be parents. Are you happy?”

They hadn’t talked much of children, though during his proposal Rowan confessed to wanting to have a family. Of course neither could have guessed that it would happen this soon. That in seven months or so they would have a baby of their very own. They had each other and they would soon have a baby – she would never have to be lonely again.

Rowan rested his chin on her belly and gazed up at her. “I’m not unhappy.” He snickered, his fingertips dancing across her tummy, tickling it. “Sweetheart, I’ve never been this happy before in my life. I didn’t know that I could be. And you’re happy?”

“I am.” Belle said quickly and tilted her head as she studied his earnest expression. “Rowan, during the doctor appointment, you seemed happy, I could tell. But you didn’t seem surprised.”

“Well, I wondered.” The tips of his ears reddened and the hue flooded to his cheeks. “I thought it might be a baby. I hoped that it would be.” He admitted.

Belle felt like crying – albeit they would be happy tears. That he was so aware of the symptoms and the changes in her made her loved him all the more.

Losing herself in his brown depths, she rested her hand against his cheek. _I do love him._ When it happened and how, she didn’t know. Perhaps she had loved him from the start. But he doesn’t love me. Rowan was good to her, considerate and thoughtful; he put her needs above his own. He was a wonderful husband and would make a wonderful father. What more could she ask for? Love. Deep down, she wanted Rowan to love her in return.

Perhaps someday he would.

“I can’t believe you knew before I did. That’s so sweet.” Belle swallowed, but a lump had formed in her throat.

“You’re sweet.” Rowan replied, easing the nightgown up the rest of the way and over her head.

He trailed kisses upwards and claimed her mouth.

Her arms looped around his waist and cupped his bottom.

 _This can be enough, for now._ Belle decided as her husband slid into her.

#

Belle’s brow furrowed as she peered out the front window and noticed a 1931 Black Ford coasting to stop on their road. She grabbed her shawl and wrapping it about her shoulders; she stepped out onto the porch. Wilby trailed after her, unwilling to leave her side. The dog rarely left her alone, always hovering nearby. She and Rowan soon deduced that the dog sensed that she was with child and Wilby was watching over her.

On closer inspection, she recognized the blond, young man in the driver’s seat as David Nolan. David Nolan visited now and then, mostly with Rowan. Once in a while he brought his wife, but Belle got the distinct impression that Mary Margaret disliked Rowan by how the dark haired woman often turned her nose up at him. Truth be told, Belle did not care for Mary Margaret, how the woman could not keep a secret to save her life, and Belle was glad that she hadn’t accompanied David.

“My husband is out.” Belle called out to David when he climbed out of the car. She hugged herself, shivering under the assault of the mid-winter blusters. Rowan had been making late afternoon errands into town and never returned until the sun set. “He’ll be back in a couple of hours.”

“Sorry to show up unannounced. Just passing along a message.” David nodded and doffed his hat. “Mr. Mills is out of town and Mrs. Mills swears that a hobo was trying to break into the house. The lock is busted anyhow. Mrs. Mills wanted me to tell you that your husband is there with her, trying to fix the lock, and that he won’t be back until late.”

Belle could feel the blood draining from her face and stumbled back against the siding of the house. Her heart picked up its pace and a throbbing between her ears formed.

Rowan was with Cora. He had been lying to her for days now, making up excuses so that he could be with his former lover. Never mind that he had vowed to her in the sight of God to be faithful to her, or that she was expecting his child. Perhaps that had been the plan all along. Marry her, get her with child, and once she had served her purpose, he would take up with his lover again.

None of the kisses or caresses, his supposed kind gestures, was real. They had all been part of a ploy to fool her.

And Cora…Cora was sending her a message. Belle may have married Rowan and may have a child with him, but that woman had Rowan at her beck and call. _And there is nothing I can do about it._ Cora would always be first in his heart.

“Are you all right, Mrs. Gold?” David asked, taking a step towards her.

Belle gulped and schooled her features. “Yes, of course.” She did not want her neighbors to know of her marital woes, to pity her for having a philandering husband, or to gossip about her behind her back.

Wilby touched his cold nose to her fingers and cocked his head to scrutinize her.

David’s confused expression cleared and he nodded. “My wife is expecting a child. It helps to rest often.” He put his hat back on his head and headed back to the Ford. “Well, have a good evening.”

Belle waved as he drove off, rolling her eyes. No doubt David would go home to Mary Margaret and inform his wife that she too was expecting. It wouldn’t be long before everyone in Storybrooke would know of her baby. And it wouldn’t be long before the town figured out that Rowan was fooling around with Cora.

She ducked back into the house, slammed the door and folded herself into the corner of the sofa. Choking back sobs, she realized she hadn’t felt so lost and alone since her father died.

Wilby laid down on the floor beside her, his tail drooped. He knew something wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> http://bookwormchocaholic.tumblr.com/post/157270020334/the-lonesome-road-chapter-4


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Belle and Rowan talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is meant to be the last chapter, however some people have expressed interest in Cora receiving a comeuppance. Please let me know if you think I should write something in regards to that. Thank you.

 

Belle dropped her suitcase and carpet bag in the middle of the room, took a seat on the sofa and wiggled off her wedding ring. The beautiful stone seemed to blink in the lit room, sending her a mocking wink. It had all been a sham. Rowan never cared for her; she was just someone to warm his bed, fix his meals and carrying his child.

 _The baby._ That was all she would be taking with her. The books and clothing and whatnot was staying with him. _If Rowan wants Cora, so be it. But I will not be playing second fiddle to that woman! Nor will my child be raised in an immoral house._ She loved Rowan dearly – at least she had loved the good man she thought he was – but she was not about to demean herself to keep him. They’d divorce, she would take the baby and find work somewhere, and it would be like she had never known Rowan Gold. And if he loved Cora so much, he could continue on with her. Take her off Henry’s hands.

Belle placed the ring on the table and sniffed. She had thought she had cried herself out an hour ago, but she could feel the reservoir of tears was filling back up.

Wilby crept in from the kitchen and let out a small “arf” as he ambled over to her. He laid his chin on her knees and swung his gaze up to hers. His eyes seemed to be pleading, _Please, don’t leave me!_

Belle shook her head. She could not give in on this.

She heard the shrill peel of the truck as it stopped and the engine gave on last cough as Rowan shut it off.

Wringing her hands, she straightened her posture and braced herself, knowing that the next few minutes would not be pleasant. But it had to be done. For the baby’s sake as well as her own.

The door was shoved back, far enough to bump into the doorstop. Rowan shuffled in, carrying a large object cloaked in an old white bedsheet. Whatever it was, it obscured his view and he remained unaware of what awaited him until he put the object down…next to her suitcase and carpet bag.

Wilby shied away from the big object, wary of it.

Rowan straightened and his widened eyes flickered back and forth. Once they settled on her, he staggered back a few feet as though he had been slapped. “Belle? What are you doing? Belle?”

Belle rose and crossed her arms. Good, he was blind-sided. As was I when I learned of his affair. “I know where you were!”

“Do you?” Rowan cast a quick glance at the large, still-unidentified object.

“When we married, I could accept that you had a past.” Belle fumed, furious that he dared to act as though he were the wounded one in this. “I had a past too. But we vowed to forsake all others and you’re still carrying on with Cora Mills!”

“What? Belle, no, it’s not what you think!” He reached out to touch her arm, but thought better of it and let his arm dangle at his side.

“No, I’m talking!” Belle pressed her palm to her chest. White hot rage bubbled through her veins, giving her the courage she needed to stand up for herself. “You’re my husband! Mine! And we’re having a baby. Either you will be faithful to me or I will divorce you! Do you understand me?”

She began to feel giddy and touched her brow. Sucking in a breath, her lungs refused to contract and a cold sweat broke over her body.

“Belle, sit down!” Rowan grasped her by the shoulders and guided her back into the sofa. “Breathe for me, love.” He knelt down before her and rested his forehead against hers, rubbing his hands up and down her arms to chafe the circulation back into them. “You have to calm down or you’ll make yourself sick. Shh…”

Belle squeezed her eyes shut and took slow breaths and her body began to relax. She opened her eyes and had not realized that she was crying until a couple tears fell and Rowan brushed them off of her cheeks. Oh, how she hated that he knew how to sooth her, especially when he was the one who caused this kerfuffle.

“Why?” She locked eyes with Rowan, deciding that she deserved the truth, and wouldn’t settle for anything less. No matter how gentle he was being to her. “I thought we were happy. I thought you cared for me.”

“We are happy and I do care for you.” Rowan’s glistening eyes frantically searched hers. He stroked the side of her jaw with his knuckles. “Belle, you and the baby are my whole world. I swear on the life of our child that nothing happened.” He continued, “I was driving along and one of the Mills girls ran out onto the road to get me because Henry was gone and the lock on the door was busted in. So, I got Marco and he fixed it. Then Marco and I…we went to his barn, he has a workshop, he works with wood.”

Rowan twisted and jerked the sheet off. It was a cradle. “He taught me how to make a cradle. That cradle. It was to be a surprise. That’s where I have been the lately, with Marco.”

Belle grasped the edge of her skirt, wadding it in her sweaty fist and felt like a fool. Other than not being home the last few nights, Rowan had never given her any reason to doubt his devotion to her. Yet Cora knew how to play on her insecurities enough to stir up trouble. _Dear Lord, he has to hate me now!_ After all, she trusted the word of the woman she despised over the word of the man she loved. Somehow it had been easier to believe that Rowan would prefer Cora; sly, cultured, beautiful Cora.

“Belle,” Rowan covered her hand, lacing his fingers together with hers. “Cora and I were involved ten years ago. I should have been honest, but I never mentioned it because I was ashamed, and I didn’t think you could look past my sins.”

“What sins?” Belle mustered, afraid of what might come to light now.

Rowan’s expression was sheepish, his mouth twisted ruefully. “Cora and I were carrying on while she was engaged to Henry Mills. She said that she’d break it off with him and that we would marry. That is what we agreed to do. Henry made investments in stocks and was prosperous for a while. Cora chose to go ahead and marry him and we went our separate ways.” He shrugged one of his shoulders and sighed. “I invested in the stock market too, and did well, but I pulled out before it crashed. I wanted to show Cora that I could make something of myself and I did. Henry stayed in too late. A couple years ago Cora wanted to reconcile, but I knew better than to get entangled with her again.”

Belle exhaled, unaware that she had been holding her breath. Cora had lied about the whole thing. Yes, she and Rowan had been involved, but she had been the one to throw him over for a fancier life. But in Rowan’s story, he showed himself to be in the wrong too, rather than laying the blame all on Cora.

“I kept my distance until…” Rowan shook his head.

“Until?” Belle probed, unable to let it rest.

“Until you went to live with the Mills’.” He finished, his voice so low that it was almost inaudible. “I’m not great with words, Belle, but I love you. I should have said so sooner.” He managed a wry smile. “I loved you for a long awhile, but you were the minister’s daughter and I didn’t think your father would have accepted me as a proper suitor.”

Belle gasped. He had loved her all this time and waited years to pursue her.

“I hope I can find a way to prove my fidelity to you.” His grip on her fingers tightened. “I’ll do whatever it takes. I’ll-”

Belle licked her lips and cupping his cheeks, she dipped her head and kissed him. “I love you too. I’m sorry that I doubted you.”

“I’m sorry too, for keeping secrets.” Rowan replied and brushed lips against hers, then her nose, and cheeks, and forehead.

Snatching up the ring off of the end table, he slid it back on her finger.

He joined her on the sofa and was nibbling his way down her neck, easing her back into the cushions.

Belle moaned as he settled between her thighs and fumbled with her buttons on the bodice. “The cradle looks beautiful. I can’t wait to see our baby in it.” She pushed his suspenders down, untucked his shirt, slid her hands beneath the material and scraped her fingernails against his back. “What do you think of the name Gideon?”

“That’s a very fine name for a boy.” Rowan mumbled, leaving small bite marks along her collar bone. “A girl might not like it so much though. Rose would be good for a girl.”

“Sounds perfect.” Belle took his face in her hands and kissed him soundlessly.

No longer did she have to travel the lonesome road – she had Rowan and the baby. She had a family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> http://bookwormchocaholic.tumblr.com/post/157565163419/the-lonesome-road-chapter-5


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cora gets her comeuppance.

 

April 1934

An early spring had blown into Storybrooke and the outskirts, prompting Belle and Rowan to start take the occasional afternoon drive. One Saturday afternoon found them in their truck, bouncing along the road, the windows rolled down, the radio crooning “My Blue Heaven.” The fresh air wafted off the sea and the newly bloomed flowers and tickled Belle’s nostrils.

She noticed her husband’s hand lying in the space between them and slid hers over his. Rowan turned to her and smiled, his expression gentle. Belle returned his beam and though she enjoyed talking with her husband, she relished the quiet moments too. Words were not always required. A look, a smile, a squeeze of the hand – sometimes that was more than enough. Neither she nor Rowan were wax poetic. Thoughtful gestures and tender caresses spoke volumes; she wouldn’t trade that for all the flowery soliloquies in the world. Now that she knew all of Rowan’s deep, dark secrets, and he knew hers, there were no walls between them.  
Cora had failed.

Rowan’s initial reaction was to strike out at Cora for meddling in their marriage. It took Belle a couple of hours to convince him that they were better than Cora, and she didn’t want them to lower themselves to that nasty woman’s level.

_“Very well.” Rowan had groused, his mouth drawn into a cute pout. “But she shouldn’t get away with what she did.”_

_“She won’t.” Belle assured him, straddling his lap and distracted him by untucking his shirt from his trousers and undoing the buttons. “It wouldn’t be Christian to seek revenge.”_

_Rowan grumbled. He plucked the pins from her hair and buried his fingers into her curls. “Humph, I’m hardly a saint.” But he soon let it go when she grazed her teeth along his clavicle._

Belle stroked her still-flattened stomach. She didn’t want their baby to come into a household rife with turmoil. They had to set a good example for their little one. They also had to trust that God would deal with Cora in His own time.

“What is this?” Rowan muttered and slowed the truck, stopping twenty feet near the turn off to the Mills’ farm.

Belle’s head snapped up and she let out a small gasp.

A crowd was congregated near the porch of the house. One man stood on the steps, barking out orders. The Mills family was standing off to the side, their heads hanging low. This scene was not an uncommon one, not this day in age. A family in debt, unable to pay their mortgage, having to auction off their farm.

Rowan turned off the engine and climbed out of the truck. Belle slid over to his side and he helped her out, then he shut the door. Hand in hand, they crossed into the yard and joined the growing number of spectators.

“Is it one of those penny auctions?” Belle leaned in towards her husband. “Like the ones we read about in the papers?”

“I think it might be.” Rowan replied, studying the auctioneer.

Auctions were routine. Penny-auctions were unique. If a family lost their home, and if their neighbors were kind, the neighbors would only make low bids and purchase the property for nearly nothing. Then they would return the property to its rightful owners. The Mills family had few friends though and people could no longer afford to be liberal with their pennies.

Belle frowned. She felt no pity whatsoever for Cora. Buying expensive clothes on credit, going on ludicrous trips, neglecting the farm - the woman had made her bed and now she had to lie in it.

But Henry and the girls…Belle hated the thought of the children being homeless. Zelena and Regina were wild little beasts, but they were still children. Henry’s shoulders were shaking; his head was the lowest of all of them. Still he could not hide the bruise that encircled his eye.

Cora regally looked on, leveling her gaze at the crowd, forbidding anyone to place a bid. Her features were pinched into a severe grimace. She was on the wrong side of thirty-five and looked older now, from slathering her scowling face in cakey cosmetics and spidery gray strands webbing through her hair. Life and unhappiness had aged her and now despite all of her machinations, she was to lose her home.

Belle found herself raising her hand to make a bid for 50 cents and without any challengers, the auctioneer declared the property hers.

She exhaled and ventured a glance at her husband. Neither of them made large purchases without consulting with the other.

Rowan was grinning from ear to ear. “What happened to not seeking revenge?” His compressed her hand slightly.

“I’m not.” Belle flushed under his teasing gaze. “The children need a home. And this could be profitable for us.”

“Perhaps so.” He nodded to Cora and her family. “I think you ought to deliver them the good news.”

Belle stood on tip toe and pressed a kiss to her husband’s coarse cheek. His five o’clock shadow had already begun.

She approached Cora, her shoulders squared and her head held high. The irony of the situation could not be lost on either of them. Six months prior Belle was boarding with the Mills’, snatching up the crumbs of the charity that they had tossed at her feet. And now she was the mistress of their property, the house, and all of their livestock. All for a measly 50 cents.

“Mrs. Gold, please-” Henry doffed his hat and twisted it. The poor man’s knees knocked; he was desperate enough o grovel.

Belle waved him off. “I won’t force you to leave.”

“Really?” He gaped, his eyes glistening.

“We will draw up a formal rental agreement later.” Belle informed him. “For now you can continue on as you have been.” She shifted her gaze to Cora.

The woman was seething, Belle could tell. _If looks could kill._ Her narrow jaw was set and her carefully manicured fingers were balled.

Belle crossed her arms. “You used me, Cora, and mistreated me during a dark time in my life. You promised to show me Christian charity, but it took a man that I barely knew to show me what that really was. And after I left, you caused trouble for me.” She bit down on her tongue, lest she say anything too revealing. Henry had to be aware of his wife’s vices, but she didn’t want to air such dirty laundry before the children. They need not know that their mother was an adulteress. “Well, now you will get to see what it is like to be on the receiving end of Christian charity. My husband and I will be by in a few days with the agreement.”

Cora sniffed and she lifted her head, sticking her nose in the air.

Belle swiftly pivoted on her heel and returned to her husband’s embrace. She planted a kiss square on Rowan’s lips for all to see; a blatant declaration that he belonged to her and her alone.

And that there was nothing Cora could do to change that.

#

Rowan slumped into a sweaty heap on top of Belle and planted small kisses along her brow. His damp skin was still melded to hers while the sheets clung to her back and sides. Her breathing was labored, but was slowly returning to normal.

They had spent the evening celebrating her “business venture.”

“And you’re all right with it?” Belle asked, for perhaps the hundredth time.

Rowan pecked her lips and flipped them over so that he could be beneath her. “Of course.” He petted her back, teasing little circles into her spine. “Why wouldn’t I be all right with it?”

“Most husbands would hate if their wives took matters into their own hands.” Belle answered.

Her mother never acted independently of her father. Moe French was in charge of all matters at home, from financial to spiritual, to the daily planning of the meals to how the family presented themselves in public. He considered the verse that the wife was to submit to the husband as the Eleventh Commandment. Their union seemed to work…although when Colette French was living, she would get a certain wistful look in her eye from time to time. Belle couldn’t help but wonder if her mother wanted more.

“Then it is a good thing I am your husband and not one of the others.” Rowan gave an impatient snort. Her husband was a rare breed. He always treated her as an equal; that they found one another was nothing short of a miracle. “You ought to be in charge of this, since you made the purchase.”

Belle leaned her head back and gave him a quizzical look. “Is that so?”

“Yes. I have this farm to oversee.” He encouraged. “You can do it, I know you can. ‘She planteth a field, and buyeth it.’ See I can quote Scriptures too, when I have a mind to. Besides, you can’t tell me it won’t please you to strut around the Mills’ farm for Cora to see.”

“You’re terrible!” Belle giggled, playfully slapping his shoulder. She couldn’t deny though, that she did feel a little smug.

“I am, but you love me anyway.” Rowan’s laughter rumbled in his chest before he sobered. “I feel sorry for Henry. No man should be faced with losing his land.”

Henry Mills’ black eye had not gone unnoticed by Rowan either. When Belle confided her concerns to him, that Henry was abused, Rowan implied that Cora was capable of anything. Henry, being a gentleman, would never raise a hand to his wife, not even in defense. Belle considered herself lucky getting out from under that roof when she did; Cora could have easily turned on her. But now that she had the upper hand, so to speak, Belle figured she could make things easier for Henry and the girls, and Cora would have no choice but to comply.

Belle nodded and pressed her lips to his chin. “I pray it never happens to you. This farm defines you.”

Rowan shook his head and cradled the side of her face. “Nothing defines me except for you and the baby.”

Belle felt her heart squeeze and fought the tears welling in her eyes. Finding herself rested enough for another session of love making, she flung her arms around his neck and sealed her mouth over his.

She didn’t know what lied a head of them, but knew as long as she had Rowan and the baby by her side, that they could face anything together.

**Author's Note:**

> The dust storm at the beginning of the story began on November 11, 1933 in South Dakota and swept eastward. It was the beginning of the Dust Bowl. 
> 
>  
> 
> http://bookwormchocaholic.tumblr.com/post/156350471454/the-lonesome-road-chapter-one


End file.
